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“Publishing a book, Watching its ways Force me to look At a screen for days "Be still, be still", My heart screams for life But I must check its sales, It's reviews, its likes. Another Instagram poet Who's dying And doesn't know it, Untying an underlying Knot of desire To be liked and admired For people to love what transpires From my mind, but I'm tired Of the social machine Producing my insecurity Hoping someone will follow me And like all my poetry From this point forth, find me nowhere, Socially unseen, Just on the back porch, without a care And without a screen” — Eric Overby
Publishing a book,
Watching its ways
Force me to look
At a screen for days
"Be still, be still",
My heart screams for life
But I must check its sales,
It's reviews, its likes.
Another Instagram poet
Who's dying
And doesn't know it,
Untying an underlying
Knot of desire
To be liked and admired
For people to love what transpires
From my mind, but I'm tired
Of the social machine
Producing my insecurity
Hoping someone will follow me
And like all my poetry
From this point forth, find me nowhere,
Socially unseen,
Just on the back porch, without a care
And without a screen